Margaret's Ark (31 page)

The phone rang again.

McMillan got up quickly, put on his coat, and left the rectory through the back door.

18

Austin “Ozzie” Shaw felt like he'd died and gone to heaven. Normally, he worked in the back of the lumber warehouse, hauling stock in and out as the Jesus Freaks rushed in to build their asylums. It was good work, but under normal circumstances, Ozzie could scarcely pull together a forty hour week from that jerk Clay. Lately, though, he was lucky to crawl into his apartment by nine o'clock and have one beer before passing out on the couch. Forget about trying to drag himself out to meet everyone at McCatty's.

Then four days ago, Clay – no longer a jerk in Ozzie's opinion – had pulled him aside. Ozzie assumed he was a dead man. Every since Holly dumped him and took off Clay prowled around the store, kicking the arkies into the street and making life miserable for everyone else. He'd gone so far as to smack Bennie Litz in the back of the head with a pack of work gloves. Bennie wasn't exactly a tiny guy, but he took it. Everyone did. Clay was seriously nuts.

Secretly, every man there was thrilled his girlfriend had bolted. Quiet little Holly was the best looking girl in the place and everyone knew Clay beat the crap out of her. Now she was available. Even
with
her kid, the prospects were enticing. That is, if anyone figured out where she'd hidden herself,
and
if anyone had the nerve to actually try and make moves on a psycho’s girlfriend. Looking into Clay's eyes four days ago, Ozzie was pretty sure anyone who tried would end up with a screwdriver in the back of the head.

That day Ozzie had waited for whatever abuse Clay had in store. To his astonishment, the prick was semi-decent. “Listen, Shaw,” he'd said, constantly looking around the warehouse for any lurker he could fire if they looked like they were listening. “I'm going to make you an offer, and you're going to accept it, and you're not going to tell anyone? Got it?”

An offer you can't refuse
, Ozzie had thought glumly. “I guess,” he said. “Sure, Clay. Name it.”

Ozzie made Clay repeat the offer, thinking he
had
to have misunderstood. Sure enough, for the past four days he was being paid for forty hours work, plus another ten at time-and-a-half, to sit in his car in the center of Lavish all day and night to watch the crazies build their boat. Of course he couldn't leave, no matter what, except twice a day at staggered times to get food and go to the bathroom. If he couldn’t wait for the latter, he was to use an empty milk jug. He usually waited until his appointed break.

Bizarre as the request was, the
offer
made some sense. All Ozzie had to do was read his magazines, listen to the radio, and observe who visited the ark.

As soon as Holly showed up – and Clay was convinced she would – he was to call Clay on his cell and report in. Then came the tricky part, one that Ozzie thought was at least better than being paid to sit around all day. If Holly left before Clay got there, Ozzie was to follow her and learn where she was staying.

Ozzie Shaw, Private Dick
. He smiled at that. If he carried this off, who knew? A new career on the horizon. He was pretty sure Clay was sending other folks to other sites for the same reason, leaving a diminished crew on hand but, in Clay's words, “They can all take a flying leap with a spoon if they don't like it.”

Clay the poet
, Ozzie thought.
Seriously nuts, that one
.

Al l four windows in the car were open. The breeze kept things cool. The weather so far had been a miracle in and of itself. Ozzie only needed the A/C a couple of hours a day, just before and after lunch. Nice weather, but a little bizarre for California. Still, it wasn't raining. He could tell that this fact was slowly irritating the arkies as they finished their boat.

He was almost disappointed when he saw Holly walk across the grass. She kept looking around, expecting Clay to jump out from behind one of the shrubs. He supposed that wasn't far from the truth. She looked haggard, even from this distance. The kid wasn't with her. He wondered how she managed to find a baby-sitter and still keep hidden from her boyfriend. Ozzie didn't dwell on it, as he was listening to Clay's cell phone ringing after dialing the number.

“What?” came the answer.

“Hey, Clay. Your girl's here.”

“Who's this?” The guy sounded
way
too wound up.

“Um, it's Ozzie. You told me -”

“Ozzie,” Clay's voice interrupted. “Ozzie... Lavish town square?”

Was he drunk or just nuts?
“Yeah, Man. She's talking with the Queen loony right now.”

“Where are you?”

“What? The Lavish to-”

“Where are you
parked
?” Clay sounded out of breath, like he was running.

“Red car, near the corner before the fire station.”

“Keep an eye on her. If she leaves, follow her, and call me.”

“That's the plan, Stan.” But Clay had already disconnected.

*     *     *

What am I doing?

Holly asked herself that question with every step across the town square. She was in the open where everyone could see her. Clay was looking for her. He’d gone to Dorothy Lang's door once every day for the first few days, demanding to know where she was hiding. Gratefully, Holly hadn't told Dot where she’d really been going that day, and Dot could truthfully say as much. When Holly finally talked to her on the phone this morning, her friend explained that it hadn’t been until her husband threatened to beat him senseless that Clay finally backed off. Not that he hadn't kept calling on the phone, but at least he stopped darkening their porch. When it came to someone standing up to him, Clay lost his nerve pretty quick.

She’d stocked up with supplies when she first picked up Connor eight days ago, stopping at the closest supermarket and ringing up a major hit to Clay's credit card for diapers and food. She got extra baby clothes at Wal-Mart then drove three towns over, paying for the motel room with the cash she’d built up over the past few days by maxing out the ATM withdrawals from their joint checking account.

There she stayed, going out each morning to drive the half hour to a Williamson ATM to take more from their account. Clay must have gotten wise and eventually changed the PIN. The rejected transaction was enough to keep her indoors after that.

Eight days of feeding and playing with Connor. Eight days without Clay, of relishing the joy of spending so much solo time with her baby. Connor kept babbling, trying out words only he understood, but which filled Holly with such happiness to hear. She'd lift him into a standing position, walked him around the small, single-bed room, and he'd smile and smile! According to all the books, ten months was a good age to start training him like this.

Eight nights of terror when Connor slept and there was nothing but the darkened television staring back at her. She didn’t watch TV, except for late night news to keep up on what was happening with the ships. That was the limit of her interaction with the world. She didn't want anything else but that one small room and her little boy all to herself. Sometimes, she'd pull up a chair beside the Pack 'N Play and watch him sleep.

Every slammed car door, every raised voice outside sent her jumping to the window. She couldn't live that way much longer. She couldn't stay, and she couldn't leave.

But she had to leave. Time was running out. During her stay in the motel, Holly had time to think about why she left him. The risk of Clay finding her.... Why did she do it?

She knew, and it took until today to finally admit it to herself. She believed what was happening. She believed Margaret Carboneau when she said the flood was going to come. Staring down at Connor, at his perfect face, the slightest bubble of spit coming from his lips as he slept, she knew. Clay would see them all die before he’d let her save her son. Now, it was probably too late. She had to try.

When she called Dot to say where she was, the woman burst into tears.

“Oh, my God, Sweetie. How long do you think you can just hide out there? You’ve gotta let me come with you to the police. God knows, I'm not big on getting them involved in domestic stuff. I mean they usually screw things up worse, but it beats living in a motel the rest of your life!”

“I know, Dot. I really do. I have a plan, but I need your help. Do you think you can watch Connor for a little while? Here, I mean, while I sneak out?”

“Of course, I will. You got a car, Hon, or will you need to borrow mine?”

Her car
. The thought had suddenly struck her with so much force she had to sit on the edge of the bed. Holly’s car had been in the motel parking lot for eight days, right out in the open. Then she realized, no one had seen it. Eight days and they hadn't found her. She smiled at herself in silent congratulations. She’d done something right for once.

“I have a car,” she said, “but now that you mention it, maybe I'll borrow yours. Mine’ll get recognized.”

Dot laughed. “Girl, you're starting to sound like James Bond. It's a deal. And if I can find you an exploding fountain pen on my way, I'll pick one up.”

Dot's car, thankfully, was an automatic. Holly had never learned to drive standard. She watched Connor smile and drool as Dot lifted him overhead in a joyous reunion.

Now Holly was in public amidst a hundred faces, wondering if coming had been a mistake. Margaret Carboneau was standing on a short ladder, shouting to someone inside the ship through a porthole set high in the hull. The ship was clunky, and big.

“Ms. Carboneau?”

The woman turned, her expression dark for a brief moment. Then she brightened and climbed down off the ladder.

“You work at the supply store, right?”

Holly tried to smile, failed, and began to scan the cars parked around the common. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, turning back. “I'm sorry; I won't take up your time. You look busy. I'll come back -” Then she caught herself being the pathetic weak thing that had gotten into this mess to begin with. She wouldn’t be
able
to come back. “No, I'm sorry. I need to talk to you now.”

Margaret folded her arms across her chest and smiled, warily. “I'm all ears.”

Holly stumbled over her words, talking quickly so as not to let the woman interrupt until she got her say. “Can, can I join up? Sign up? Whatever. I don’t know what I can do, but, actually, I wouldn't be able to. I can't leave where I'm staying. Someone's looking for me, and if he sees me –” She stopped, realizing she sounded like a raving lunatic.

“It's okay,” Margaret said. “Are you asking to join us here on the ship?”

It was as if she'd lost a hundred pounds. “Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, that's right. My boy, Connor, he's just a baby. But he's real good. Him and me. Just the two of us. Really only one if you combine us.” She laughed.

Margaret's face darkened again. Not an angry expression, but there was sadness in it. Pity. The weight that had fled Holly a moment ago poured back, centered in the middle of her chest and stomach, threatened to pull her to her knees. “I'm sorry,” Margaret said. “I really am. But we're full up, and I can't take any more passengers. It's not allowed. If I could, I would. Please believe that.”

Holly wanted to cry, to beg and fall to the woman's feet. But the realization of where she was came back to her. Vulnerable. More so now that she was being turned away.

Margaret continued, “There are others being built, though. They might have room. I have a list. Here, let me get it.”

“No,” Holly sobbed. Tears were blurring her vision. “They'll all be filled, too, won't they? Filled or just never going to be built. Right?”

“I'm sorry.” How many times, Holly wondered, had this woman had to turn people away? She wiped her face with her arm, but it didn’t work. She lifted her shirt partway up and dabbed her eyes.

Connor was with Dot. She had to get to him. Think of what to do now, where to go.

“We have a waiting list,” Margaret said. She pointed to a red-haired woman in a wheelchair across the way. “Please, go over to Estelle and give her your name and number. There are others on the list before you, but people do leave now and then. There's always a chance.”

Holly heard the words but could not respond. After having dried her eyes she instinctively scanned the common looking for Clay. What she saw instead was Ozzie, watching her from behind the wheel of his car. When Ozzie realized he'd been spotted, he gave her a little wave, then shrugged his shoulders. His hand hovered there a moment, then he looked around.

Clay’s with him
, she thought in panic.
Oh, my God. He's looking for Clay
.

Ozzie reached down and lifted up a cell phone. He was saying something. She stared, ignoring the questions from the woman beside her. Ozzie’s face took on a nervous urgency. As she tried to see what he was saying, she took a couple of involuntary steps forward. Then she understood what he was saying.

He's coming
.

She turned and ran. Margaret Carboneau called after her, but Holly did not stop. For a panicked moment, she forgot where she'd parked her car, then remembered she'd driven Dot's Taurus wagon. There it was, three cars away.

She bumped the car in front with the wagon when she put it in gear. Its alarm blared. Muttering nonsensical words, which sounded more like Connor's language than her own, she pulled into the street, having to wait an eternity for an opening in the traffic. She was grateful her car was facing away from Ozzie, or she'd have to drive past him.

He's coming.

The tears kept falling, but she didn't dare wipe them away. She hit the button to roll down the windows, and let the breeze air dry her face. The edges of her vision crystallized, but she could see. As she’d planned before coming, Holly veered off the main road and followed a roundabout route to the motel. The office had plenty of maps to sell her, and she'd worked out two different routes in addition to the highway.